


springtime

by sarria



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alpha Damen, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Knotting, Lactation Kink, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Laurent, Overstimulation, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-11-18 19:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11296944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarria/pseuds/sarria
Summary: Laurent is supposed to be on bedrest. Damen, in an act of desperation, convinces him to spend the last month of his pregnancy with Damen in the summer palace. He hopes this will encourage Laurent to spend more time in bed.They spend a lot of time in bed. It's not as restful as Damen had hoped.





	1. Chapter 1

When Laurent is eight months pregnant, Damen finally convinces him to leave Marlas.

It takes some doing. Somehow fitful back pain, constant fatigue, and an influx of hormones that Damen is pretty sure make puberty look like a gentle stroll through adolescence have not lessened Laurent’s innate stubbornness any. They may have, in fact, increased it.

“This is idiotic,” Laurent says, the morning they’re set to leave.

“Is it,” Damen replies, a bit distracted as he presses his thumbs deeper into the cramped muscles of Laurent’s lower back, working free eight months’ worth of tension. Probably more.

“To remove ourselves from the court for an entire month might as well be suicide, especially considering the unrest in Vask,” Laurent says. He has to forcefully smother the little relieved noise he makes when Damen unlocks another muscle.

“Is it,” Damen says again.

“Damen, you’re not taking this seriously.”

Finally, Damen stops. They’re lying together in bed, the sun just beginning to clear the hills. Damen is propped on one elbow, the better to exercise his skills in massage. Laurent had been lying on his side, surrounded by what very possibly could have been every pillow in their two kingdoms. Now he has rolled with effort onto his back and glares at Damen. The intensity of his disapproval is severely lessened by the soft, messy fall of hair over his eyes.

Damen, though he knows it may only make Laurent pissier, smiles.

“I promise you I am taking this seriously,” he says, to Laurent, who is bristling. “You are my husband and the father of my future children, I care for you more than anything in the world, and if you don’t go on bedrest soon, Paschal will hang me from the battlements. The court will be perfectly fine without us for a few weeks. I want you to be well.”

“I am well,” Laurent replies, though he’s flushing faintly and glaring at some point to the left of Damen’s ear. “Paschal is a worrying old hen.”

“Love,” Damen laughs, “You look like you’re about to pop!”

Laurent glares harder. This, at least, is impossible to deny.

The gray spring morning throws a watery light through their windows, just enough to outline the enormous swell of Laurent’s stomach, the heavy curved belly that, per Paschal, cannot contain anything less than two pups. It’s simply too large. On Laurent, it looks immense.

Laurent has, over the course of pregnancy, packed on only what weight has been absolutely structurally necessary to support the rapid growth in his womb. His hips are wider, his breasts full and growing fuller, but he remains overall lean, and the weight of his pregnant belly seemingly equivalent to the rest of his body combined. It makes the fertile curve of breasts and belly seem almost obscene, like something divine, like something Damen is too lucky to hold.

“Leaving is still a terrible idea,” Laurent grumbles, though he sighs and shifts as Damen puts a hand to one of his swollen breasts, rubbing his thumb carefully over the tender nipple.

“Have you considered this may be more for the court’s sake than yours?” Damen replies, voice hushed. Laurent makes soft, closed-mouth noises as Damen’s hand works. His cheeks are pink with heat. “You almost took Lord Ernault’s head off when he passed you the carp instead of the pike last night.”

“My mother hanged men for less,” Laurent snaps, though he too is beginning to be distracted. Pale milk beads on his nipple under Damen’s attentive thumb, and Laurent digs his fists into the sheets and gasps when Damen applies his mouth. His scent fills the air in a rush, cloying and heavy and sweet as his taste on Damen’s tongue. Damen feels his own arousal like a secondary nuisance, not nearly so important as the sounds Laurent is making, short and bitten-off, the heady smell of him, the slick Damen knows he is beginning to leak. 

“I know your game,” Laurent gasps, like grabbing for a lifeline. “I know your game.”

His breath is heavy, but could be heavier. The cracks in his voice could run deeper. Damen closes his eyes and focuses on his work. His tongue laps at the damp point of Laurent’s nipple, one hand landing on the soft flesh of his inner thigh.

“You’ll make me beg for your cock, and when I do, you’ll say ‘Only if we go to the summer palace,’ and then you think you’ll have me.”

“Mmm,” Damen replies, an agreeable hum. Laurent inhales sharply. Damen’s fingers have found his hole and rub over it rhythmically, never pressing hard enough to enter, again and again. His fingertips are fragrant with Laurent’s slick.

“You can’t fool me, Damianos.”

He sounds desperate. He sounds  _ wrecked. _ Damen raises his head and smiles. Laurent is still glaring, flushed and panting, red to the tips of his ears.

“I would never even try,” Damen replies happily. His fingers press harder at Laurent’s hole, so close to breaching the curled muscle, just a hair’s breadth from proper penetration, and Laurent’s eyes slam shut in a show of furious control. “But in the summer palace I could fuck you properly. No courtiers to bother us, no Council to placate. Just us, your books, and as many hours of sex as you could wring from me. My cock in your ass, keeping you full, sitting in my lap, making you stretch around my knot.”

Laurent’s hairline is beaded with sweat, his full lips parted around breath so heavy it makes his massive belly heave like a bellows. A pale line of milk traces the curve of his breast. 

“Fine,” he gasps, eyes still shut, nails digging hard into Damen’s free wrist. “Fine, we’ll go to the summer palace.”

“And?” Damen says, prompting. One finger dips inside Laurent, just for a moment, before returning to circling his hot rim.   


“And I’ll lie in bed and answer letters and you can fuck me like the animal you are, Damen, now get  _ on with it.” _

Damen grins. Laurent’s eyes are open and he’s staring at Damen in red-faced fury. His scent fills the air, almost as heavy as his heat. His eyes flash. Damen, as ever, is a little bit stunned.

“Of course, your Majesty,” Damen replies, and moves to settle between Laurent’s spread thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting scenes as I write them bc I'm trying not to stress about the artistic integrity of my weird kink porn, tbh. feel free to leave prompts in the comments if you'd like to see anything else in this vein. can't promise I'll get to them, but who knows, this could end up an extremely long and varied sex-cation for damen and laurent.


	2. Chapter 2

The road south is short, warm, and wildly unpleasant for Laurent. Unable to ride for months now, he makes the journey on the padded seat of one of the new capital’s finest wagons and still ends each evening gritting his teeth against the pain. Sitting for such stretches of time wreaks havoc on his back, and Damen knows that the incessant bumps of the road, felt even through cushions and springs, are like aching bolts through Laurent’s spine. Not even Damen’s recently-improving skills in massage can have an effect, and they arrive at the palace with a certain amount of relief.

The baths are a necessary first stop.

They scrub the dirt from their bodies, they wash the road dust from their hair. Damen runs water and a soft sponge down Laurent’s pale legs. Laurent works oil into Damen’s thick curls as Damen bows his head to him and feels the release of each muscle in his neck. Eventually, Damen gets to the business of helping Laurent truly relax.

Damen sits at the deepest end of the baths, legs spread wide on the long seat built into the tiled wall. Laurent rests in the water between them, his back to Damen’s chest. The top of his breasts, the curve of his belly emerge from the scented water like smooth islands in a calm sea. One of Damen’s hands curves around his heavy stomach, the other under his raised thigh. Three of Damen’s fingers thrust in and out of his tight hole with barely a sound.

“That marchioness from Kempt might be agreeable,” Laurent is saying, voice low and drowsy. “She doesn’t lack for interest in women, I’ve seen how she’s looked at the pets in Arles.”

“Vannes likes them younger,” Damen replies, his own voice not much louder than a murmur. Laurent’s eyes are closed, his head resting on Damen’s shoulder. “The Marchioness has more than a little gray to her hair.

“I think Vannes could be persuaded. I saw the Marchioness split a log barehanded.”

Damen laughs, a startled noise that echoes clearly against the steamy marble. “You did not,” he says, accusing.

“Well, she got it started with the axe,” Laurent admits. “But I assure you there was at least a little pulling apart with her bare and brawny hands involved.”

It’s a game they’ve played for years, imagining matches among their friends and family and courtiers. They played it all the way down the road from Marlas. It was a simple matter to continue it in the baths, as Damen had worked Laurent open, carefully and thoroughly, and pressed his nose to the warm crook of Laurent’s neck as his husband’s voice grew loopy and soft.

“What are you thinking about?” Laurent asks when a minute passes without Damen’s reply. His voice is hushed, his body lax in Damen’s arms, as if pleasure and Damen’s drawn-out ministrations has lulled him into the kind of lassitude he doesn’t normally allow himself. The tip of his nose brushes on occasion against Damen’s neck.

“I was thinking how beautiful you look like this,” Damen replies, and feels in his arms how Laurent’s breath catches.

Damen’s fingers don’t stop. He pushes them in again and again, a repetitive motion he can feel all the way up to his shoulder. Laurent’s entrance clenches around him.

“It’s just a body,” Laurent finally says, voice hitching when Damen’s fingers brush against his prostate, a hard thing to do at this angle. “It maybe— ah,  _ ahh _ — bigger than usual, but it’s just a body.”

Damen knows that Laurent perceives of his body’s relationship to his mind differently than Damen, mostly in that he perceives of it at all. There is some kind of bifurcation in Laurent’s thinking, one that is neither good nor bad but simply not present in Damen. Damen is his body. Laurent lives in his.

Damen also knows that the fast, dramatic changes in Laurent’s body have unsettled him. Not hugely, not for more than a few moments at a time, but he suspects Laurent’s abstractions have hardened, that the distance he keeps from his own physicality has been made a few steps wider.

Thus, Damen could tell Laurent that his pregnant body is the most arousing thing Damen has ever seen. That every day in Marlas he was at most three seconds from ripping Laurent’s clothes from him, pushing his hands to the wall, and fucking into Laurent’s willing heat until every room in the fort was filled with the frantic noise of their coupling. He would put his teeth to Laurent’s scent gland and bite. He would cup his breasts. He would run his hands over Laurent’s swaying belly as he thrust into him, because Laurent was his omega and he was round with Damen’s seed and he was beautiful. Damen could tell Laurent all these things and they would be true. They would not mean much to Laurent.

Instead, Damen stretches his wrist and digs his fingers in harder, with intent. He nudges Laurent’s spread thigh wider, holding him open against Damen’s chest, searching for that sweet spot and finding it, again and again. Laurent buries his face in Damen’s neck and pants, breath hot and fast against Damen’s damp throat. The water ripples against his belly.

“I think you look beautiful when you feel good,” he says to Laurent, to the top of his head resting against Damen’s jaw. “I think you look beautiful when you are given pleasure, and I want to always be the one to give it to you. I think you look beautiful now, pregnant with our children, rounder with them every day, because you are the most private person I know and you have given up the privacy of your own body.”

Damen presses deeper as he says this, faster, until the water of the baths is sloshing and Laurent rides up against his chest with every thrust. His hand clutches Damen’s, spread over the distended curve of his stomach, and the stifled whine in his throat is as good as a scream.

“Please,” he pants, voice tight, “please, Damen—”

Damen again is filled with the urge to bite, to claim. He could, and Laurent would scream for it and dutifully come. But he wants this, this peak he’s worked Laurent to with almost an hour of careful dedication. He wants Laurent to come with a whimper in his mouth, begging softly, desperate for what Damen’s been promising him. With his eyes shut. With his face pressed to Damen’s neck. 

So rarely can Damen make his husband beg. To give up the opportunity now on the basis of some ridiculous alpha instinct would be beyond stupid.

Laurent’s skin is flushed, his chest heaving as Damen spreads his three fingers and fucks him harder, feeling slick dissipate in the water beyond his knuckles. Laurent’s nipples are dusky and pebbled, his face and neck and chest as red as sunburn.

“Your body is beautiful,” Damen tells him, running their joined hands over stretch marks and the black line down Laurent’s abdomen. “You’re beautiful. It can’t be a surprise to you. Every day I get to see you or touch you and know that you’ve allowed yourself to carry our children is a gift beyond measure.”

“Please,” Laurent says again, a word without meaning, “please—”

Damen sinks lower in the water, hitches Laurent higher, until Laurent is panting in his ear and Damen can pound his fingers ever deeper into Laurent’s leaking hole. Laurent spreads his thighs wider, angling his hips. His need is palpable, something Damen can taste in the air. Damen growls low in his throat.

Laurent is almost sobbing, his breath hitching fitfully as Damen finally finds the right angle, no longer glancing Laurent’s prostate but massaging it, fingers rubbing over and over the soft bump of tissue without hesitation. Neglected all this time, hidden by the swell of his belly, Damen can feel against his hand as Laurent’s small cock fills completely and rises towards his stomach.

Damen moves his hand away and takes one of Laurent’s pert nipples between his fingers. Laurent is shaking in his arms, slick pouring between Damen’s fingers, his thighs quaking in their stretch. The thick smell of his arousal burns in Damen’s nose. He needs more of it, he’s greedy, he wants Laurent to come apart in the baths in the summer palace in Damen’s arms.

Damen presses hard with his fingers in Laurent’s hole, and pinches with two fingers Laurent’s leaking nipple, and finally Laurent comes, shuddering and silent, white come streaming from his cock in a watery cloud.

And in Damen’s arms he’s suddenly limp, rippling with quiet aftershocks as Damen withdraws his fingers and pulls him back tight to his chest. 

“I think that was almost cruel,” Laurent says after a few minutes. His voice is hoarse. Damen is mouthing softly at his scent gland, reveling in the feeling of flushed skin against his lips.

“Was that okay?” he asks, over the drip of the baths and the gentling slosh of water.

“Yes,” Laurent replies, quick enough that Damen grins. “But don’t get any ideas.”

“I’ve never had an idea in my life,” he says, and splutters happily when Laurent splashes come-streaked water in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao it turned into feelings i guess. daily updates are extremely unlikely to be a thing, sorry if i get anyone's hopes up. your comments are all lovely, though, and i love them.


	3. Chapter 3

The dream is vivid, like a memory, like much-cherished fantasy. Laurent wakes up wet.

It isn’t the first time he’s suffered the indignity. Pregnancy has done terrible things to his hormones. His life for the past several months has been a constant, frustrating burn of arousal that has threatened his control more consistently than any heat, which at least end in a timely fashion. Pregnant, Laurent has gotten hard in more council meetings than he can count from the mere brush of his clothing against his chest. Every glance of Damen’s hand against his arm in a hallway or at a banquet has left him struggling not to pant time and time again, holding himself back from snatching Damen’s hand and guiding it to his slick hole by the skin of his clenched teeth. 

And his dreams have reached a fever-pitch of unnecessary eroticism. Even lying in bed with Damen, having been fucked more thoroughly in the last week than he has been in the last half-year, Laurent’s body has seen fit to provide him with yet further inventive need for Damen’s cock.

The sky beyond their window is the same bright, sun-blanched blue of the sea. They’ve slept late. Damen’s hand shifts slowly over the thin shirt covering Laurent’s belly as he wakes.

“G’morning,” he mumbles into Laurent’s neck, nuzzling at the skin. It is, Laurent will admit, one of his favorite sensations. “You smell…”

Damen trails off. His nose presses deeper to Laurent’s neck, his body tightening around Laurent’s, closing him within the thick curves of his arms.

“You smell _amazing_ ,” Damen says, his sleep-low voice now lower, rumbling, making something clench in Laurent’s gut. His inner thighs are warm and damp, getting damper.

“I had a dream,” Laurent says. He’s hot all over, Damen like a furnace against his back.

“Tell me about this dream.” It's not a request.

“You were fucking me,” Laurent says. “You'd been fucking me for hours. And every time I came and I begged you to slow down, to stop, but you'd press me to the sheets and thrust even harder, making me feel it until that was all I could feel, until I was sobbing your name with every breath.”

 _“Laurent.”_ His voice is shuddering, pleading. 

“Well,” Lauren replies. It's difficult to make it sound like he's unaffected, like he can't feel Damen’s thick cock hardening against his ass, but that's part of the game, too. “It's not like we have anything else to do today.”

Damen surges over him.

The weight of the pups in Laurent’s belly makes any attempt to roll onto his back a logistical challenge, and so Laurent simply twists to meet Damen’s hungry lips with his. It makes his back ache. His back always aches. Damen’s hands are rough and searing against his jaw, tilting up his head until Damen can bow and mouth possessively down his neck. 

“Too good for me,” Damen as he saying into the skin of Laurent’s throat, as he presses careful teeth to Laurent’s scent gland and the breath tangles and knots in Laurent’s chest. “You're too, too good for me.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Laurent says, meaning many things. Damen gets behind him.

His mouth is still hot against the curve of Laurent’s shoulder, one arm curving beneath Laurent’s head as his other hand slides down Laurent’s back, ducking under the hem of his nightshirt, finding his hole hot and slick and waiting. Laurent shudders and clings to the sheets, drawing his legs up, rocking back against the flat press of Damen’s fingers as much as his body will let him. It isn’t enough.

“Can I—” Damen says, “Are you—”

“Do it now or you won’t live to see your children,” Laurent snaps.

Damen has the nerve to laugh, his heavy cock rubbing without satisfaction between Laurent’s cheeks. And then Laurent pushes back, again, feeling the strain in his back and hips, and the tip of Damen’s cock finds his hole. Damen’s arms are around him. He pushes in.

It’s never like the dreams. It’s always more than what he imagines. Even with the natural openness that comes from a sleep cycle’s worth of fervent arousal, the slow, inescapable intrusion of Damen’s cock punches the breath from him. What's left to him are the shallow pants of desperate need, the room before him blurry and unseen as all attention is given to the stretch of his ass, the throbbing pleasure of his mate’s massive cock inching deeper inside him.

Laurent tries to shift back onto it, mindless and flushed, and Damen stops him. One hand comes up across his chest to hold tight to his shoulder, the other curving over his distended, ruddy stomach. His leaking cock, the hot peaks of his breasts are left untouched. Laurent is held immobile by Damen’s arms and the clumsy weight of his own pregnant body, allowed to feel only what Damen gives him. He whines, unable to help it, as Damen’s hips land flush his ass.

“God, you’re perfect,” Damen is saying in his ear, choked and breathless, “Never anyone else, never anyone but you, never—”

 _“Damen_ ,” Laurent says, a little amazed he can form the word.

“Yeah,” Damen says, “yeah, here—”

His hand closes around Laurent’s cock, engulfing him, and with one rough stroke Laurent comes. It takes him like a fit, his blood pounding, his thoughts wiped clean, and when he scrambles back for control he’s gasping for breath and Damen still is moving with short, deep thrusts inside him, rocking him through every wave of his orgasm.

Laurent moans, eyes fixed to some stone in the windowsill he can barely see. Damen is unrelenting even as the motion of his cock in Laurent’s oversensitive channel threatens to spill over into pain. There is the thought that he could stop this with only a word, but he doesn’t, and it keeps going. He lays in Damen’s arms and takes it, unable to do anything else. There’s a throb just inside his rim, a mounting pressure, as Damen’s knot begins to grow.

“You’ll kill me,” he says.

Damen puts his teeth to the curve of Laurent’s shoulder, a playful bite. “You’ll live,” he says.

Damen gets his hand under Laurent’s thigh and lifts it, spreading him, giving himself room to thrust. His swelling knot catches again and again on Laurent’s rim, in and out, and Laurent’s eyes slam shut as the pleasure comes screaming for him again. There’s nowhere for it to go. He’s already spent, his cock limp. When Damen thrusts in a last time, locking them together, stretching Laurent past the point of known endurance, the second orgrasm hits. It’s a full body shudder, a brutal wave, and his soft cock leaks a few drops of come as a meager afterthought. Damen’s seed is hot inside him, filling him up. He heaves for breath.

There, impaled on Damen’s knot, he’s given a moment of rest. Damen has left his thigh down, his hand now running in gentling strokes up and down Laurent’s side. He’s back to nuzzling at Laurent’s nape, a soft motion of nose and lips against overheated skin.

“You’re doing so well,” he says. His voice is quiet, a little mindless with his own pleasure. His cock pulses inside Laurent. The hand on Laurent’s hip moves to the curve of his belly, gliding over its heavy swell. “So good for me.”

“You love this don’t you,” Laurent says after a moment, managing a more even tone than should really be possible. Damen makes a muffled questioning noise against his shoulder.

“This,” Laurent repiles, shifting forward, his belly pushing against Damen’s hand. The motion has an unintended consequence in the form of the immediate white-hot tug of Damen’s knot against his throbbing rim, but he swallows down his gasp with a brief effort. 

“What you’ve done to me,” he says, soldiering on. “Gotten me with child. Made me thick with your seed.”

Damen groans, low in his throat, as Laurent knew he would. Let him have a taste of his own medicine.

“Everyone in two kingdoms knows I’m yours,” he says. “They saw it every day in Marlas. Every day I was rounder. Your claim on me, for all to see. What alpha could ask for more?”

Damen’s cock pulses again and Laurent clenches around it, drawing his own exhausted pleasure.

“There’s some part of you that wants to keep me this way, isn’t there,” he says, unable to hide the breathlessness in his own voice. “Pregnant. Fat with pups. With one at my breast and another in my belly for as long as I’ll let you.”

“God, I’m already _coming inside of you,_ Laurent, what more do you _want_ from me?”

“Agony, I think,” Laurent replies, for which Damen growls, bites hard at his neck, and gets his hand back around Laurent’s cock.

Fuck, Laurent _wants_ to come. He _does._ He’s loose-limbed and shaking as Damen strokes him again and again, praying for release, but his cock barely manages to get stiff. He’s wrung-out, his talk all that’s left to him, and even that fades to nonsense as Damen begins to thrust again with the great mass of his knot, pushing whimpers from his hoarse throat.

It’s so much. It’s so much. It’s still not enough to get him over the edge. 

Finally, after what feels like hours of Damen’s ministrations and could only have been minutes, he begins to plead. “Damen,” he gasps, “Damen, please.”

He can’t be kept like this, on the searing edge of pleasure, unable to tip over into relief. He’ll lose his mind. He’s halfway there already. Damen burns against him, around him, his scent as heavy in the air as smoke from fire.

“Please,” he says again, _“please.”_

“I’m trying,” Damen groans, with the full length of his shuddering body pressed to Laurent’s. His voice is cracked and grinding.

He lets go of Laurent’s cock and there is, for just a moment, respite— and then his hand finds Laurent’s breast.

Laurent thinks he might actually be keening, wouldn’t you know it, as his sore back arches and Damen’s fingers pinch at his aching nipples. This was what he couldn’t be prepared for in pregnancy: not just that he’d grow breasts but that they would so _occupy_ him, that the feeling of Damen’s thumb glancing over the tip would be as consuming as the knot in his ass. That Damen’s calloused hand massaging the flesh, full of milk for pups who couldn’t yet nurse and aching for relief, could do this to Laurent, could bring him up and over the cliff of orgasm with a thunder that shakes his body and leaves him blind and dumb for whole seconds after, limp as a doll in Damen’s arms.

“Tell me you’re alright, dear,” Damen says, any time between a few minutes and several months later. “Use your words.”

“To be clear,” Laurent says, wheezing faintly, his head still lolled against Damen’s bicep. “However many children come out of me this time around, that’s how many you get. I’m not doing this again.”

Damen laughs. His chest rumbles against Laurent’s back. His cock, unfortunately, is still very much inside of Laurent, but his hips are still and his hands are far from anywhere dangerous. One is dragging lovingly through Laurent’s sweaty mess of hair.

“God, no,” Damen says. “You know I love you, but never again. I don’t think either of us would survive it.”

“You, specifically,” Laurent replies, exhaustion starting to drag at his thoughts, “you would not survive it.”

“Thank you for that important clarification. You’re not falling asleep, are you? Laurent, come on, what am I supposed to do for another twenty minutes until this goes down.”

“Be very still,” Laurent sighs, pulling Damen’s free arm over him like a blanket, and closes his eyes to the sound of Damen’s beleaguered, loving sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha hello it's been a while, have some porn.
> 
> nice things about writing this:  
> 1\. can put off writing other things  
> 2\. don't have to care enough about canon to remove all references to religion from damen's dialogue. dude's already got a dog dick, now he gets some spirituality too.
> 
> thank u for reading and commenting ur all lovely.


End file.
